-Here we are, the last chapter and the epilogue. I can't thank you all enough for supporting this story as much as you did. Your reviews inspired me to keep going and always brought a smile to my face. You're truly amazing readers. I hope I did this story justice with this ending, but I'll let you be the judge of that. Read on, guys :)-
Four days later, Brenda found the couple back in that lonely room. She paused in the doorway, uncertain of whether she should walk in or not. The scene in front of her was too tragic to look at.
Newt was lying on his back in bed, his hands at his sides. His head rested on two pillows piled on top of each other, so that he could sit up. He couldn't do it on his own anymore; he was too weak now. His skin was positively ghostly, stretched thin over his bones. His eyes were nothing but hollow pits in his face, closed for now while he slept. He looked one step away from falling into a grave.
Minho was sitting in a chair at Newt's bedside, hunched forward. His arms were folded on the edge of the mattress, his head bowed into them. The fabric of his black T-shirt was wrinkled as though he'd been wearing it for days. He glanced up once when Brenda opened the door, lifting his head a little. There were shadows under his eyes, but he scraped up a half-smile. "Hey, Brenda," he said in a rough voice.
Brenda managed a small smile back, but it wasn't able to stay for long. "Hey," she greeted just as quietly. "How's he doing?"
Minho looked at Newt for a moment. His hand went to hold Newt's instinctively. "Fine," he answered unconvincingly. "He's doing...he's doing okay..." He trailed off because he knew it was a terrible, terrible lie. Softly, he lifted Newt's hand and kissed his knuckles.
Brenda stepped farther into the room. "How're YOU doing?" she asked.
Minho raked his hand through his hair, now not spiked at all, but flopping into his face. "I feel like hell," he admitted.
"Are you sleeping at all?"
"No."
"What about eating?"
"Not really."
"Minho."
"I can't." Minho met her gaze. The hopeless sorrow glistened in his eyes. "How can I, when he's lying here like this?" His voice broke then and he had to pause, collecting himself again. "How can I sleep when he wakes up screaming? How can I eat when he can't keep anything down? How can I live when he's DYING?" His words grew more intense at the end, louder. With a mindful glance at a sleeping Newt, he fell silent again.
Brenda studied him gravely. "You can't give up on yourself," she told him. "Newt's already suffering. He's doesn't want to watch you suffer too."
"I don't care," Minho muttered.
"You should."
He jerked his head up at that. "What?"
She took a breath. "If you loved him, you wouldn't do this to yourself," she said softly, aware that this was a dangerous sentence to say.
"I'm doing all of this BECAUSE I love him," Minho growled.
"Minho—" Brenda's protest was cut short.
"I love Newt more than my own life." Minho held her with his obsidian gaze, unwavering. Even though there were tears glinting in the corners of his eyes. He inhaled raggedly. "I'd give my life for him," he murmured brokenly. His tears were threatening to overflow now. "It wasn't supposed to be like this. I never wanted this."
Brenda's shoulders slumped. "I know you didn't," she replied. "I just...I want you to understand, that's all. Newt doesn't want you to be in pain like this."
"I know," Minho mumbled.
"He wants the best for you, you know?"
"Yeah."
Brenda studied him carefully. Opening her mouth to speak again, she took a breath, but was interrupted; both she and Minho jerked as Newt squirmed in his sleep. A reedy whimper escaped his throat, barely audible. His face tightened in pain. Minho was grabbing Newt's hand again instantly, stroking his fingers over the back of Newt's palm. He watched in concern as Newt moved in bed again and groaned. Minho's gaze flicked over Newt's face desperately. "Newt?"
Brenda remembered why she'd come in here: the syringe in her hands. "He needs his medicine," she said, striding up to Newt's bedside. She held up the syringe full of a liquid as clear as crystal. "The experimental cure came in today. We're going to try it soon." She examined the needle through narrowed eyes.
Newt was shifting back and forth now, his sounds of distress growing more awful. His chest began to heave as he fought for air. Minho was gripping Newt's hand too hard but he didn't notice. "Do something," he pleaded Brenda.
Brenda wasted no more time. She quickly swabbed Newt's arm with antiseptic and let the needle sink in. Pressing down on the plunger, she didn't stop until all of the contents were in Newt's bloodstream. It was a fast-acting medication, intended to relieve the patient of pain as soon as possible. She pulled out the needle while she waited for it to kick in. By the time she had Newt's arm bandaged, it was already working.
Gradually, Newt's breathing quieted. He stopped writhing in bed and collapsed into the mattress. He fell back into his deep sleep again, with his weak, labored breathing and the tiny movements of jutting bones. Sweaty hair stuck to his forehead. Minho reached out and pushed the stubborn strands back. "Angel," he whispered, brushing his knuckles over Newt's cheek. The love and grief were tangled up in his eyes, both breaking him apart. He glanced up at Brenda in sorrow. "I can't do this anymore, Brenda. It's killing me, watching him like this."
Brenda hated this part of her job. To see patients crumbling in front of her and then to watch their loved ones come apart. It was heartbreaking. And this case was special to her. As much as she tried to stay unbiased with patients, she had been caught in Newt's spell too. No, she wasn't in love with him, not the way Minho was. But she'd noticed that quality he had, that captivating, enrapturing beauty. Everyone here had noticed. As sarcastic as he was, the nurses loved him. The doctors loved him.
No one was prepared for him to die.
But I know the truth, she thought sadly. She'd seen Flare patients before and had taken care of them right up until the end. She knew exactly what that fatigue and failure in the final days looked like. It was happening now. She wanted to deny it, but the facts were in front of her, lying still in a hospital bed.
The truth was that Newt probably wouldn't survive the night. And this lovely, inspiring light he had would go out with him.
She didn't have the heart to tell Minho.
-x-x-x-
It happened late that evening.
The light was falling from the windows in waves of dark honey, staining the floors reddish-gold. Outside, the sun sank low on the horizon, right beneath a white-hot sky. The fiery yellow faded into crimson, and then violet, until it turned to the blue-black of coming night. A few stars winked like spilled coins from the twilight.
Inside the hospital, all was calm. A few doctors headed down the hallways to tend to patients, and there was always the clatter of keyboards from the front desk. A couple people in the waiting room talked to each other in hushed tones. But down the Flare hallway, it was deafeningly quiet. No patients stirred from their sleep. No breath broke the air. No voice dared to break the silence. It was as though the very atmosphere of this place was all focused on that one room near the end of the hall.
In that room, a group of nurses and doctors were clustered loosely around a hospital bed. They were all solemn-faced and grave, hands clasped in front of them. Several were wiping at their eyes. There was Mary from the front desk, arms folded over her chest and her lips set in a thin line. There was Brenda, sniffling and holding a syringe in trembling hands. There was a boy with black hair, sitting at the bedside with his life shattering in his eyes.
And on the bed, there was a breathtaking blonde, every bone visible through his paper skin, and every breath becoming smaller. He wouldn't open his eyes from this sleep, a sleep that came like dark waters and dragged you down down down. He would never wake up again.
The drone of the heart monitor beeped plaintively in the corner.
Brenda glanced around at them all. "I, um." She stopped, took another breath. "I—I have the experimental cure. It came in a few days ago, but we couldn't use it then. So...so I brought it today." She squeezed her eyes shut, holding back unbearable emotion. "It might help."
One of the nurses shook her head and another closed her eyes. They knew it was a grasp at hope that would lead nowhere. Experimental cures never worked. They'd been trying to cure the Flare for years. Every strain and every patient was different. How could one cure sweep that kind of disease away?
Minho didn't lift his gaze from Newt's face. "Okay," he said softly. "Go ahead, Brenda." His voice was as hollow as an empty grave.
Brenda dipped her head. She bent over Newt and carefully wiped his arm as she'd done thousands of times before. The others watched hopelessly. A doctor turned his face away. The syringe glowed with a liquid colored palest blue, the color of starlight on water. Brenda slid the needle in and let every last drop slip into Newt's veins. Pulling it out again, she bandaged his arm and straightened up again. There was nothing more she could do.
They waited. The sun traveled lower and lower outside. The heart monitor toiled on. Newt's labored breathing scraped the air.
Minho had been holding Newt's hand for what seemed like days. He cradled it in both of his hands, gently, like it was made of delicate porcelain. Glancing down, he grazed his thumbs over the lines of Newt's palm and folded those slender violinist's fingers over his own. He remembered Newt's fingers dancing over violin strings. He remembered Newt's fingers curling in his sheets in pain. He remembered Newt's fingers running through his hair.
Nothing dies as long as it's remembered.
What a sick, terrible lie.
Minho brought Newt's hand to his lips. He looked at Newt lying there, asleep and falling away in pieces. I wish I'd known, Minho thought. I wish I'd known before that it was our last time together.
The day with the broken violin. Minho hadn't known it would be the last time Newt ever spoke to him. The last thing he'd said was, I'm sorry. Minho wished it hadn't been that way. He would give anything for Newt to wake up, just for a moment. Then Minho could say he loved him and he'd know that Newt heard. But he had to settle for this.
Brenda checked the equipment by Newt's bed. "Not much longer," she murmured chokingly. She glanced down at Newt and her eyes gleamed with unshed tears.
Minho's throat threatened to close up on him. He clenched his jaw against the ache. "Newt," he whispered. "I wish we had more time then we got. I'd trade my life to have just one more day with you. I have to settle for this instead. But I don't regret it at all. Not the way you said I would. The past few months have been...the best of my life." His voice wavered and he paused to collect himself again. "You...you showed me so much. And I never could've fallen in love with anyone else but you. If things had been different, I would've told you that every day, Newt. I would've given you a life with me."
Brenda hugged herself so hard, her fingers dug into her arms. Mary covered her mouth with one hand. The others sniffed and clutched each other's fingers tightly. All the while, Newt's chest rose and fell with less strength by the minute.
Minho bit back a tear-choked sound and reached out to brush his fingers down Newt's cheek. "I love you, Newt," he breathed hoarsely. "I love you more than I'll ever be able to say." His heart constricted because he knew Newt couldn't hear him. "I want you to fight, because I'm selfish. I want you to fight until you beat this. But I can't be selfish anymore. So...so if you're ready...it's okay." A stray tear escaped, running down Minho's face, but he didn't care. "It's okay, sweetheart. You can let go."
The heart monitor beeped and beeped. Brenda turned away from it, her lips trembling. Slowly, surely, the beeps came less and less often. They sputtered, and coughed, and barely made a dent in the glowing line on the screen. Someone choked off a sob. Mary shut her eyes, but her tears betrayed her, leaking out the corners and down her face. Newt's chest hardly lifted. His eyelids didn't even twitch. The beeping continued to grow more sluggish and no one could bear to listen. But they did. They did because they had to.
Minho gripped Newt's hand tighter as he watched the blonde lying there. Newt didn't struggle. He didn't make a sound. He didn't lift a finger. He faded the way flowers do, petal by petal, beautifully, and with unrivaled grace. It was the way your dreams slip away in the early morning, until they are forgotten, but still leave a lingering lightness behind. Angels don't die with screams and fear.
Angels die softly.
And they leave behind no more than the whisper of a feather.
The beeping ceased. Minho's fingers curled over Newt's wrist, at the place where his pulse beat. He felt it when Newt's heart stopped.
-x-x-x-
The room went still.
Somebody sobbed out loud this time. Nurses bowed their heads. Brenda's hands were over her mouth, mascara making ragged lines down her face. Mary had walked to a corner, shaking awfully. Other than this, not a person moved.
Minho stared blankly at the heart monitor, at the line that no longer jumped. His gaze flicked back to Newt's closed eyelids. "Newt...Newt, please." He touched Newt's hair, his cheek, traced his jaw. Nothing happened. There was no response. Minho's eyes burned and his chest hurt terribly. He sucked in a shuddery breath. "Newt, angel, don't," he begged, but what was there left to beg for? Newt was gone. The thought hit him like a knife to the heart and he grabbed for Newt's hand again, his own hands shaking. "Newt," he whispered, "Newt, Newt..." He buried his face in Newt's chest and sobbed. His shoulders shook. One of the nurses reached out as though to touch him, but drew her hand back again.
Minho was broken. He was nothing. What good was it to be alive if he had lost all he wanted to live for? He let his tears soak Newt's shirt and felt his heart shatter. He was dying too.
A tiny sound.
An insignificant sound.
A sound that made the world stop spinning.
The nurses froze. Mary turned back around, her eyes wide with shock. Brenda wiped the mascara from under her eyes and squinted at the heart monitor. "Oh my god."
The sound came again. A small, insistent beep. Another followed it. And then another, and another.
Minho raised his head and looked at Newt through tear-blurry eyes. "N—Newt?"
Silence.
The tiny beeps.
Their held breaths.
The beautiful,
heart-wrenching,
wonderful sound
of Newt
breathing
"Minho."
-EPILOGUE: 2 MONTHS LATER-
It was a bright, spring morning, with just a hint of chill in the air, when Minho was awakened by the sound of someone moving. Dragging himself from sleep, he huffed out a breath and turned to peer at his digital clock. 8:37. Who would wake up on a Saturday at 8:37? No one, that's who. Still, he rubbed at his eyes with both hands in an attempt to fight off lingering dreams. He speared his fingers back through his rumpled hair, then propped himself up on his elbows. The covers slipped down his bare chest and stopped halfway down his stomach. He smiled slightly when he saw who it was that was moving around so much.
Newt was across the room, by the wall of windows and a dark dresser. He currently had a frustrated look on his face as he tugged on a pair of dark skinny jeans. "Oh my god, seriously?" he muttered, oblivious to Minho's eyes on him. "I got these on a week ago, how can it be this much harder now?" Triumphantly, he got the jeans buttoned and slipped on a belt. Then he grabbed his red Converses and a denim shirt of Minho's. He was pushing his arms through the sleeves when Minho finally spoke up.
"You do realize it's only 8:30 in the morning, right?" Minho asked playfully.
Newt glanced up at him and his lips curved up. "Yeah, well, I wanna go do something important today and I can't be late," he replied.
"What could you possibly be doing this early on a Saturday?"
"More than what YOU'RE doing," Newt flashed back. "I'm going up to the hospital again. They want me to play for them."
Minho smiled. Of course. He should've known this had something to do with music. He watched Newt buttoning up his shirt, his fingers sure and steady. The sunlight from the windows traced the curve of his back and shoulders. Since they had stumbled onto the cure two months ago, Newt had only been growing healthier. He wasn't as pale anymore or as thin; his skin had taken on a healthy almost-tan in the spring sun, and his body was lithe and lean. He truly resembled an angel as he finished hastily buttoning his shirt and started shoving his feet into his shoes.
Minho chuckled at Newt's quiet hurrying. "You're awfully awake for someone who had his hands on me all night," he commented lightly.
Newt snorted and shot Minho an elvish smirk. "You started it," he accused.
"Did not," Minho argued.
"Oh, you don't think you stripping my pants off wasn't starting it? Because it was."
"Please. You shouldn't have had that much to drink last night."
"Hey, I had the Flare two months ago; I have the right to have as much wine as I want. Besides, you still started it."
"Oh, okay, I guess you forgot the way you said you wanted it after the fourth glass."
"I did not drink THAT much! Okay, you know what?" Newt broke off and crossed the room in only a couple strides. Minho edged back against the pillows at the wicked look on Newt's face, then grinned when the blonde slid himself on top of Minho in bed. Pinned between Newt's arms, Minho allowed himself to be trapped and took the moment to admire the blonde above him. Newt looked far from angelic; he was positively sexy with his hair falling over his eyes and Minho's shirt unbuttoned to show a V of bare chest.
Newt's smirk turned devilish. "Admit that you started it," he challenged.
"No way," Minho scoffed.
"Minho, I swear to God..."
"It was totally you who started it."
"You're such a liar." Newt leaned down and kissed Minho's nose, then ducked to kiss his chin. Minho tensed, but Newt stopped a millimeter from kissing his mouth. Newt grinned. "I'm not gonna kiss you until you admit it," he murmured.
"Then you're gonna have to wait a long time," Minho returned, though his words were weak. He couldn't resist Newt when the blonde was stretched out on top of him like this.
Newt knew it and took full advantage of it. "You're still lying to me, Min." As he spoke, he let himself sink on top of Minho, their stomachs and chests pressed together. Their legs fit together with a thin layer of sheets between them. Newt noted the ripple of muscle against him. "You wearing anything under this?" he asked, tugging at the covers at Minho's waist.
Minho swallowed hard as body heat flooded into him. "Wouldn't you like to know?" he asked with a smirk. But he was finding it harder to concentrate, because dear God, he could smell Newt's cologne and it was an utter addiction.
Newt cocked his head to one side teasingly. "I do wanna know," he breathed, their lips brushing. "So say you started it so I can kiss you."
"I'm not making it that easy for you," Minho shot back.
Newt laughed breathlessly. "Dammit, Minho," he muttered, and then he sank his mouth onto Minho's.
Minho couldn't help but tilt his head up into the kiss and let out a sigh of bliss. Newt always kissed him slowly, taking control and turning Minho into a hot mess under his hands. The first touch of Newt's tongue made Minho whimper for more. Finally, he moved his hands from under Newt and set them at the blonde's hips. They were way too low, his fingers splayed over Newt's back pockets, but he didn't care. Not when Newt was licking his bottom lip between kisses.
"Thought you had somewhere to go," Minho mumbled into Newt's mouth. His reply was a growl and a chastising nip at his lips. Minho couldn't argue with that so he obediently shut up and focused instead on shoving his hands up the back of Newt's shirt.
Newt released a huffed breath and slipped downward, away from Minho's lips. Nudging Minho's head to the side, he pressed his mouth to the side of Minho's neck. Newt kissed his way down the line of Minho's throat, making sure his teeth grazed the skin each time. Minho's head fell back, eyes drifting shut and a low hum of pleasure leaving him. Newt reached the curve just between his neck and shoulder. Without warning, he sank his teeth gently into the skin and worked at the place with his mouth. There was definitely going to be mark there and Minho moaned at the mere thought of Newt leaving his mark on him.
Satisfied with the sounds he'd pulled from Minho, Newt ceased his heated kissing and drew back. A smile tipped up his mouth at one side as he gazed down at his boyfriend. "I love you," he murmured. There was no holding back now when he said that beautiful sentence. There was no reason for him to be afraid of never having a chance to say it again.
Minho felt his heart swell in his chest. "I love you, too."
Newt's smile widened. His eyes trailed over Minho beneath him. "I wish I could stay here with you. But I promised them I'd be at the hospital soon."
"I'll meet you up there later," Minho decided. He stroked his hands up and down Newt's back. "We can go out afterwards, to any restaurant you want. I'll pay for all of it."
Newt shook his head. "You spoil me too much, Min," he murmured. "First a brand new violin and now this?"
"I just never thought I'd have this," Minho replied softly.
Newt's blue eyes glimmered with happiness and he placed a kiss on Minho's mouth. "You'll have me forever," he breathed, that wonderful, sacred word leaving his lips like music. Never before was Minho more happy to hear that word spoken by his angel. Suddenly, forever didn't seem so out of reach.
-x-x-x-
That day, at the hospital, a black-haired boy sat among a crowd of nurses, doctors, and patients, in a room with a wall of sunlit windows, and a blonde boy with a violin in his hands.
And the halls were filled with music.